


Let's Talk About Your Future Dreams

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: “I’m already dyin’. Please just give me this. Please. P...Pretend if you have to. But please, give me this.”
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 83
Collections: 2019 Danger Days Holiday Gift Exchange





	Let's Talk About Your Future Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artasaweapon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artasaweapon/gifts).



Poison swallowed dryly, leaning his head against the cold glass of the telephone booth he was crammed into.

The sharp, harsh lines of monochrome were blurred by the tears in his eyes, by his breath fogging up the glass, by the stinging pain in his stomach drowning out most of his thoughts, by the pounding of his heartbeat as he rummaged through his pockets to see if he had any spare carbons.

He did. They were supposed to be for Ghoul’s new art supplies, but he didn’t get the chance to spend them - funny, huh? The only artful color around here was the contrast between the shade of Poison's red hair and the blood seeping through his torn shirt. 

There was enough for a ten-minute phone call. Better Living Industries surely monitored phone calls - but he was already bleeding out in a telephone booth, what were they going to do? Even the most bloodthirsty exterminators must find sadistic pleasure in watching the dying leader of the revolution shake as he inserted the carbons into the machine, not sure who he could call. 

Out in the Zones, they didn’t exactly have cell service, or he was sure there would be a big market in un-wiretapped phones, but it limited his options severely. Was there anyone he could call?

WKIL Radio.

They had a phone. It was one of those old landlines, but Dr. D had given Poison the number with a sad look and told him to call if he ever needed out of something too big for him to handle.

This was too big for him to handle - dying - and he nearly punched in the numbers wrong as he murmured the memorized number over and over under his breath. 

Each ring lasted an eternity to Poison’s mind, though is thoughts might as well be lead with how sluggishly they ran through his head. He just wanted someone to pick up, for Destroya’s sake. They had to.

He didn’t want to die alone.

He didn’t want to die alone in a telephone booth, surrounded by the same color he had worn so proudly for years, not alone, he wasn’t meant to die like this. He was meant to die like a legend, like someone the Zones would remember long after the last star faded from the sky.

“- ey? Hello?”

Relief flooded through Poison’s veins before he could properly respond - he could recognize that voice. He could recognize that voice! That was Ghoul! Fuck, that was Fun Ghoul - that was his Detonator!

Why was he at the Station?

And then Poison remembered that, oh, he had to say something for Ghoul to know it was him, to get Ghoul to understand. “Ghoulie, Ghoulie -”

“Pois? Pois, is that you?” Ghoul suddenly seemed so much more interested in the conversation. Poison could almost see him jumping up from his hair the slightest bit, could almost see the way his hair was falling into his eyes and he wasn’t pushing it away, could almost see him chewing on his lower lip out of worry. “Where are you? We - we’ve been -”

He had a reason to be worried.

“Trying to find me, I know,” Poison sighed. Of course they were. They probably made Ghoul at the Station, since he always tended to get more violent and unhinged when he was scared than the rest of them. Was he scared? For Poison? “I’m...I’m in the City. Battery City. And - and - I don’t...know if I’m going to make it out.”

“What do you mean? Why are you in the City? Are you hurt? Did you get caught? Hold on, I’m gonna radio Jet and Kobra,” Ghoul rambled; the line went static for a moment or two, with Ghoul murmuring something in the background Poison couldn’t hear and wasn’t going to attempt to. 

Ghoul rambled when he was nervous. So he was nervous for Poison. About Poison. Poison wished he hadn’t told Ghoul he was okay, even if his hand came away sticky with blood when he checked on his stomach wound, squeezing his eyes shut to get rid of the color behind his eyes and reapplying pressure.

There wasn’t much he could do to help himself. This wasn’t the Neon District; there weren’t rebels in carefully hidden corners ready to trade him bandages or something. No, he was on his own. 

“I’m...I was looking for some things. For you guys. And...I got shot. It’s bad, Ghoulie,” Poison trailed off. Only when he heard Ghoul trying to form a stuttered reply did he blurt - “I’m scared, Ghoulie.

Ghoul was silent, for once, and Poison’s atled brain took that as a sign to continue. “I don’t...I don’t think I have a long time left and it’s really bad, but I can talk right now, I can talk, and I don’t want to die alone and - and - please, talk to me Ghoulie.”

Poison’s voice cracked on the word please - he wasn’t used to saying it, but right now he desperately clung to the telephone, his other hand clutching his wound and his shoulder bracing him against the cold glass. 

“Ghoulie, please.”

And maybe that was what kicked Ghoul back into the present, because it was only then he answered, and his voice shook more than Poison’s, surprisingly. “What were you getting for us that was important enough to go into the solo?”

“I was...I was gonna ask a favor of Dr. Benzedrine,” Poison laughed - or gave a mangled sound from a raw throat that was meant to be a laugh. “I was...Kobes isn’t doing so good recently and I was...I was gonna ask if the Doc could alter some medication to give him some non-brainwashy anti-depressants.”

“Anything for your brother, huh?” Ghoul said softly, and Poison swore he could hear the tears collecting in Ghoul’s eyes, and his heart ached at the sight of Ghoul so upset. Ghoul didn’t deserve to be upset; he was too amazing for that, and Poison didn’t like it, and he wanted to tell Ghoul everything was going to be okay, but they weren’t going to be okay, and Poison knew it, and the stench of blood was starting to make him want to retch. 

Poison smiled to himself, knuckles white from how tightly he was holding the receiver. “Yeah, anything for Kobes. And Jet. And the Girl. And...and you.”

“Don’t tell me you went into the city for me, too.” Maybe Ghoul was serious, or maybe he wasn’t, but Poison wasn’t going to die a liar to add insult to injury to his already tragic death. 

“I came into the city for all of you. I wanted to get Jet some bracelets, to make up for the ones he lost. I wanted to see if I could bargain for anything that wasn’t dog food - the Girl needs some real food and...and I, uh, wanted to see if I could get you any new art supplies. ‘Cos we, um...haven’t been on the best terms recently.”

“That’s just because you’re a stubborn idiot sometimes, I didn’t - I don’t - That doesn’t mean you should risk getting caught over something stupid like that. I don’t know if you’re gonna be okay - you gotta be okay, you know? You’re gonna ‘cos you’ve gotta ‘cos I said so.” 

Poison bit back the ‘no I’m not’ on the tip of his tongue. He knew he’d finally gotten himself into a mess he couldn’t get out of. There was no coming back from this one. The blood that was dribbling down his jeans at this point told him as much. Instead, he forced a fake smile that Ghoul couldn’t see - We’ll - we’ll see, Ghoulie, okay? Jus’ keep talkin’ like you were. Jus’ keep talkin’...”

“I don’t want to keep talking.” Was Ghoul sniffling? No, no, Ghoul wasn’t allowed to be upset. “I want you to be okay. You’re gonna be okay, okay? I’m gonna - I’m gonna tell Kobes to - to radio Dr. Benze or - or King and they’ll come and get you, okay? You’re gonna be just fine. There’s no need to be scared.”

Poison’s heart was already lurching at the thought of Ghoul being upset, and if he started thinking about that then he was going to start thinking about what Jet and the Girl and - and Kobra, dear Destroya, Kobra - would react and he would start crying even more. 

There was a reason to be scared, but he couldn’t look at it in fear of being harshly reminded of the pain he was almost numb to. He wanted to be numb, he couldn’t risk thinking about it. 

Fuck, he was thinking about it. So he changed his thought process as quick as he could and blurted out the first thing that came to mind - 

“I love you.”

The line went silent. Poison worried he lost the signal before remembering that wasn’t something he’d ever said to Ghoul before.

Which was weird, because Ghoulie was his Detonator, and he loved his Detonator to the Witch and back, and why hadn’t he ever told him that before? 

“Cherry Bomb,” - Ghoul’s voice cracked on the familiar nickname - “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t start sayin’ your good-byes just yet.”

“I love you,” Poison repeated shakily. No matter what Ghoul said, this might be the last opportunity he had to tell Ghoul he loved him. Because Poison was pastel, and he knew it, and he wasn’t at peace with it until he was staring Death down and losing. “I love you, and I love your stupid fucking blue eyes, and - and I love the way you smile and I love the way you talk and lean on me and I love how excited you get when we’re drivin’ and I love you, Ghoulie. My Detonator.”

“Stop talking.” Poison heard the shuddering breath from down the line and waited for Ghoul to continue. He had to have something more to say. He had to. Right? “Stop talking, Pois. Please. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Poison laughed, that mangled laugh again. “I’m already dyin’. Please just give me this. Please. P...Pretend if you have to. But please, give me this.”

Was he begging? Maybe he was. Maybe he was, but he didn’t care, because if he did die, and he knew he would, he wanted to hear Ghoul say it back at least once. The three words that Poison had taken years to come to terms with, could never say though he showed it in all the little ways.

It took another moment for Ghoul to respond, but when he did he was hiccuping like he was crying and didn’t want Poison to know, but his tell was that he always started hiccuping when he was crying. “I - I love you too, okay? I love you.”

“You better, you bastard,” Poison joked, though it was weak and didn’t bring either of them humor. 

Silence over the line again. Poison was beginning to get worried when the time was going to run out. 

Then, finally, after some background murmuring he couldn’t make out - “Someone’s - someone’s gonna come get you, okay? Where are you?”

Poison could only answer with one answer he had. His blast wound flared up with pain and he keeled over, gasping from the pain, hitting his head against the glass and not caring. It was nothing in comparison. “I - I don’t know. A telephone booth. One of the average districts. Mom and Dad came home too early.”

Ghoul must’ve nodded and forgotten Poison couldn’t hear it from the silence once again, but even when he did speak his voice was far away and distant, soft around the edges on some words and harsh on others. Poison couldn’t understand what he was saying.

And while spots danced in his vision, Poison knew what he wanted, choking on his own words: “Ghoulie, Ghoulie keep talkin’. I’m not gonna say anything. Keep...keep talking.”

And just like he asked, Ghoul talked. He rambled and he gave his nervous laugh and he said ‘okay’ too much and Poison could tell when his emotions on a topic changed, or maybe the topic in general, but Poison couldn’t make out the words so much as the familiar comfort of Ghoul’s voice, like coming home.

Poison didn’t remember when, but he dropped the receiver; it banged against the glass, but Poison himself was curled into the corner and couldn’t find it in him to move. Move, and his stomach would hurt.

Move, and die quicker.

But he wanted to hear Ghoul’s voice as long as he could. When he couldn’t make out the sharp lines of the world around him, when it all blurred together into gray, when it finally turned black - 

It was Ghoul’s voice in his ear, and the last thing Poison murmured before he closed his eyes was a quiet, sure, desperate, “I love you.”

If he had stayed awake any longer, he would hear the clattering footsteps rushing toward him.  
_

_And oh, there was nothing stopping the boy with the ice-blue eyes from lighting monochrome streets alight in the same color as the red-haired boy’s spark. ___

**Author's Note:**

> ... Hope you enjoyed the gift! This is for @createuntiltheendoftime on Tumblr and I will link their ao3 when I know it!


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